


meant for two

by starrygale



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Classical Music, F/F, F/M, M/M, Musical Instruments, Yuuri has anxiety, everyone is musical, super gay, there's probably more but i'll mark them as they come to me, victor can sing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:35:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8904682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrygale/pseuds/starrygale
Summary: His fingers graced the black and white keys, gently pressing each piece of marble as though it would shatter beneath his touch. The sound of footsteps echoed off the curved walls of the symphony hall, causing him to freeze, his fingers hovering above the keys."Yuuri." Someone called his name softly, as though not to scare him, "I knew you could play like that."Yuuri knew the voice all too well. "It's because of you." He stated solidly with the same confidence as a starting note.Victor smiled, walking to lean against the piano. "Play again, just like before."Yuuri began to play.





	1. bright horizons

**Author's Note:**

> hi so i'm too lazy to edit the sucky formatting/plot of my last fic so i'm gonna work on another idea i had for my victuuri babies!! hopefully this one is better :/

Yuuri felt numb.

It wasn't a bad numb, no, or an anxious numb either. It was the kind of numb where you're aware you're somewhere outside the comforts of your own home, but you can't actually focus your eyes to make them see the people and places around you. Yuuri's fingertips felt cold, a cool wave of relief and post-performance endorphins flowing through his body. Not even an hour ago, he had seated himself on a piano bench in Bunkamura Orchard Hall, and played in front of three judges who would determine the future of his musical career.

There were no lights cast over the seats beyond the front row. Spotlights only shone on his position on stage as well as on Yakov Feltsman, Lilia Baranovskaya, and Celestino Cialdini, some of the most talented (and prestigious) musicians in the world. They championed in a variety of instruments: Yakov was considered to be Russia's best bassoonist; Lilia, the top female violinist in the world, and Celestino, one of the world's top saxophonists. None of them played Yuuri's instrument, piano, but boy, did they know music. As Yuuri walked on stage, he could feel his hands physically shaking. His music shuttered with his trembles, quietly rustling. A lone piano occupied the center of the stage, waiting patiently for Yuuri to take a seat and press its keys. The three musicians watched him silently as Yuuri quickened his pace and seated himself on the piano bench, dropping his music before picking it up again and placing it on the music rack. He turned to face them all, meeting their stony stares. 

"Give us your name, where you're from, and what piece you're playing. We can clearly see what instrument you'll be auditioning on." Lilia called from her seat in the front row, her voiceheavily accentedand her tone unwelcoming.

"M-my name is Katsuki Yuuri, I-I'm from Hasetsu, Japan, and I'll be playing Impromptu no 1 by Chopin." Yuuri's voice wavered, and he swallowed thickly. 

His answer was met without reaction, and Yuuri took that as a sign to start playing. Taking a deep breath in, he placed his fingers in their starting position and started to play. His physical shaking didn't stop throughout the entire performance, causing some misplaced notes and awkward note lengths. Yuuri's heartbeat wildly pumped in his ear, melting into the music he was trying to hear in his head. A medley ofmental"I cant’s" roared within Yuuri, making him go completely deaf fromthe music he was so desperately trying to make. His tempo slipped from him in the middle portion of the song, pushing faster and faster and racing along with his nerves. The slow, melodic ending that was supposed to mark his finish came faster than it should have, and Yuuri could feel his fingers curl up into fists as he started blankly down at the keys. He must have remained frozen like that for a while, because a simple "thank you" fromCelestino dismissed him, breaking his trance and allowing him to scurry off the stage. 

Now here he was, sitting in an uncomfortable chair in the hall's lobby, waiting for the judges to post the list with their final picks. He had been waiting for almost an hour, sitting uncomfortably while musicians flowed in and out of the hall. Some came back looking absolutely crushed, and others look elated. He recalled one trumpet player parading out of the hall, his smile big and boasting whatever triumphant success had just occurred. What Yuuri assumed to be his girlfriend had run up to him and briefly wrapped her arms around his neck before pulling away and curling her fingers into two identical, overlapping J's. The two had shouted "It's JJ style!" at each other and walked away hand in hand to find somewhere to sit and wait. Musical people were definitely weird. Yuuri was sure that he hadn't seen anyone react as he did. His performance definitely wasn't his best, but at the same time, it wasn't his worst. He sighed, adjusting his crooked glasses and staring down at the sheet music in his hands. There were pieces much harder than this he could have played, yet Yuuri chose it because it resonated with him. He could feel Chopin's artistry within every rhythm and dynamic, and simply  _hear_ the passion that inspired Chopin to create such a lovely piece. That was Yuuri's distinguishing feature in the musical community. He wasn't the best pianist in Japan, he was far from that. People knew the name Katsuki Yuuri because the way he let music control his mind and move his body. It's said that Yuuri's music comes from his head, and he translates his talent and passion into the piece he plays. People also knew the name Katsuki Yuuri because of his performance anxiety. Judges always speculated that he could be one of Japan's best if he didn't get so involved with his doubts. Yuuri's best talent and worst drawback came from the same place and were fueled by the same voice. His constant limbo between the two held him in an awkward position, holding him down and preventing him from getting any better or any worse. He'd lost many scholarships and opportunities thanks to this, but Yuuri was at the point now where he expected it. He'd try, yes, but he never allowed himself to get disappointed by his lack of success. It was expected of him. 

The symphony hall's door swung open, breaking Yuuri from his distant thoughts. A petite, nicely dressed woman, probably someone working under one of the three judges, walked briskly out into the waiting area. All eyes followed her as she walked up to a bulletin board and stapled a piece of paper to it. Yuuri felt his heart seize. This was it. The woman barely got out alive before a stampede of anxious musicians rushed to the bulletin board, pushing and nudging to see if their name would be printed. Yuuri couldn't move. It wasn't worth it to look at this point, anyways. Screams of joy, defeated sobs, and camera clicks erupted from the crowd of musicians. It thinned out quickly, the majority of them not accepted into such a selective ensemble. When only a few people were left lingering in front of the list, Yuuri mustered up the calmness to walk over and look. Purposely dawdling, he vaguely scanned over every other section listed before looking over to the piano section. There, under the bolded name of his instrument, read one name.

"Katuski Yuuri"

Yuuri felt all the blood rush back into his body. He was both embarrassed and elated. He was ecstatic that he had made it, but mortified that it was only because he was  _the only pianist who auditioned._ Yuuri groaned, taking one last look at the list before quickly gathering his stuff and heading out the door. He had made it, but only because he was the sole one who had bothered to try. Sure, the ensemble he auditioned for required him to stay in Russia to train and perform for 6 months, but you'd think that he wasn't the only pianist in Japan who would have tried out. He tucked his music into his sling-across bag and fished out his train ticket. He had a long ride back home to Hasetsu, which unfortunately meant he had plenty of time to reflect upon his audition. Attempting to distract himself, he plugged his earbuds into his phone, and selected his favorite song to calm his fizzling nerves.

_ Can you hear my heartbeat? _

_ Tired of feeling never enough _

_ I close my eyes and tell myself that my dreams will come true... _

The music flowed from his earbuds and into his ears, filling Yuuri's ears with the beautifully smooth voice of his favorite artist. Victor Nikiforov was famed for his distinctive voice. It was masculine, but in a fluid way that didn't confine him to one style or another. His songs were released in a variety of languages, each one personally sung by Victor himself. Travelling and touring for years upon years had allowed the Russian artist to master English, Japanese, Korean, you name it. This particular song, "History Maker", was in English. Victor's tongue moved around the foreign words so smoothly and beautifully that it made Yuuri's stomach twist in admiration. Yuuri also admired how Victor strove to constantly surprise his fans and listeners. He switched genres, styles, and looks so often that the media was constantly filled with his gorgeous, perfectly constructed face. Back when he was a rising star, Victor's silver locks nearly reached his waist. He kept it tied back when he performed live, his ponytail dancing with every movement of his body. Then, only a few months ago, Victor completely changed his looks by cutting his hair down to a practical, yet overwhelming attractive short style with sweeping bangs. Yuuri idolized everything about Victor Nikiforov. He wasn't like Victor's usual fans (which were usually sex appeal-driven teenage girls lusting after his good looks), he remained loyal to him and his music throughout the years because it inspired him. Victor's musical talent was a natural gift, unlike the way Yuuri had to train and train to come anywhere close to his end goal. Whenever Victor opened his mouth to sing, his voice came out beautiful and solid. His talent demanded attention and lured inspiration out of the deepest crevices in Yuuri's heart. When he wasn't practicing to master Chopin or Tchaikovsky, Yuuri would listen to Victor's music on repeat, drawing inspiration from the Russian man's talent and composing his own pieces. They didn't nearly match the raw talent of Victor's self-written songs, but they filled Yuuri's heart with passion and the hopes to one day be as good as his idol. 

Boarding the train, Yuuri found a quiet seat nestled in the back corner and settled down for the long ride ahead of him. As the vehicle started picking up speed, Yuuri's gaze fell to the passing scenery outside the window. Day was bleeding into night, the colors of the sunset lingering in the horizon. Yuuri thought the whole ideal to be symbolic in a sense. The colors of the sunset, symbolizing a new sense of hope, were slowly creeping into his life. He, Katsuki Yuuri, perhaps Japan's most anxious pianist, had just been accepted to be in the Multinational Symphonic Orchestra. In a little over 24 hours, he'd be boarding a plane to spend the next 6 months in Moscow. 

_ Don't stop us now, the moment of truth _

_ We were born to make history _

_ We'll make it happen, we'll turn it around _

_ Yes, we were born to make history _

Victor's voice sang into his ears, as though performing a personal power ballad specifically for him. A soft smile crept its way onto Yuuri's face. He may have made it into the orchestra only by chance, but he was going to prove his worth. In the up and rising world of music, Yuuri felt as though he now had a shot to make history. 


	2. drunk in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh omg sorry for all the technical difficulties that happened with the first chapter of my work!! my internet was flipping out so it ended up posting like three times... and as completed. smh. anyways, THE SEASON FINALE KILLED ME I AM DEAD I LOVE MY BABIES SO MUCH THAT IT INSPIRED ME TO WRITE SO HERE U GO

Moscow felt worlds away from Hasetsu rather than just 4,389 miles by plane. 

 

Since the ensemble he'd auditioned into was so exclusive, Yuuri wasn't surprised to find that an entire floor of a hotel was rented out for the group. He _was_ surprised, however, that the hotel they were staying in was the Moscow Marriott Grand Hotel. Famed for its luxury and extravagance, the building blew Yuuri away. He was used to the warm, traditional wooden interior of his own home, but here, he was met with gaping windows and an interior courtyard with a marble accents. Giant marble pillars rose up to hold the weight of a breathtaking, paned glass dome. 3 metal statues rose from the ground, twisting and curving in intricately designed dance positions. Yuuri was shocked that this was his residence for the next six months rather than a museum. 

 

He exchanged a brief, awkward conversation with a lobbyist, who sent his bags up to his room and left Yuuri to meander around the building while it was being prepared for him. Yuuri could feel the skin beneath his eyes pulled taught with exhaustion. Though his internal clock was only 6 hours ahead, the excitement of travelling and new surroundings had him mentally crushed. He collapsed into one of the formal leather chairs in the lobby and allowed himself to exhale heavily. He hadn't seen any familiar musicians, or anyone who even looked foreign and around his age for that matter. All members of the group were estimated to arrive before dinnertime, which was only about an hour and a half away. The three judges, Yakov, Lilia, and Celestino, were also the coordinators of the program, so they were flying out to Russia to meet everyone in an introductory banquet. It required formal attire, which Yuuri was not excited about. If anything, he wanted to slip into some sweats and crash in bed, not spend the rest of his evening squeezed into an awkwardly fitting suit. His sister Mari told him once that he should burn its matching tie, something Yuuri simply responded with by giving her the stink eye. Not recalling that any of the other musicians came from Japan, Yuuri wondered who he'd end up sitting with. His attention was caught by the hotel staff hauling tables and chairs into an adjacent room, and he decided to poke his head in to explore. It appeared as though they were setting up the dining area, where he and the rest of his fellow musicians were to be socializing in tonight. 

 

Someone let out a long whistle beside him, "This all looks pretty fancy, doesn't it?" Yuuri whirled around to see another man standing beside him. Straight, black bangs hung near his surprisingly defined eyebrows, which were both raised as he happily smiled. His dark, brown skin clued Yuuri in that the other man certainly wasn't from Russia. "I'm Phichit Chulanont." He smiled brightly at Yuuri, his English flawless and unaccented. Extending a black fingerless-gloved hand out to him, Phichit offered a handshake. Yuuri noticed that his other hand was clutched around a little black case.  _Ah,_ he thought to himself,  _He plays the oboe._ Yuuri slowly his extended his hand outwards, which Phichit accepted warmly. 

 

"I play the piano." Yuuri offered weakly, struggling to remember how exactly to socialize. Phichit offered another kind smile.

 

"Ah, that's awesome! What's your name?" Oh, right. Yuuri didn't even think to mention his name. " _I play the piano"... smooth, Yuuri, really smooth. You're meeting your first fellow musician and you can't even remember to tell him your name._ Yuuri noticed that Phichit was looking at him patiently, waiting for an answer to his simple question. 

 

"Oh.. right.. hah. I'm Yuuri Katuski." Phichit clapped him on the back, his eyes crinkled up in a smile as he told him what a cool name he had. He went off babbling about how he was from Thailand, asked Yuuri a bit about where he was from, then kindly excused himself to go set up his room. Yuuri smiled weakly as Phichit left, glad that to know that there was at least one friendly musician in the mix, but also still reliving his awkward introduction in his head.  _So stupid... you can't even converse like a normal person._ Shaking his head, Yuuri ducked out of the banquet-to-be room and located the nearest elevator. The ride up was short and vacant, only Yuuri occupying the wide space. When the door dinged and let him out, his eyes widened at the sight before him. The hall seemed to extend endlessly on either side, fine rugs lining the floor. Shiny brass plates adorned each door, the room number inscribed in cursive. Every musician had been assigned a Superior Room, which offered two beds, a kitchen area, a main living/study area, and a bathroom. Yuuri was shocked by its enormity. He was also confused by the fact that every musician had been assigned two beds. He surely wasn't going to have company very often, so it was really just a waste. He noticed that his bags were neatly lined along the wall near one of the beds, and set to unpacking. There was only about 45 minutes left until the banquet, and he needed the entire time to unpack and freshen up.

* * *

 

Steamy air rose up around him and enveloped Yuuri's body as he stepped into the shower. He sighed in relief as he felt all the airport grime and germs wash off him in a wave of hot water. Absentmindedly lathering shampoo into his tufty black hair, Yuuri thought of the events to come. He was going to face his three judges again, something that made his stomach tie himself in knots. His audition definitely was not superb, yet here he was with everyone else. He winced, knowing that they knew the only reason why he was here was because he was the only pianist who bothered trying out. Shaking that thought away, he focused on the unknown group of people he'd be working so closely with for the next 6 months. His thoughts fell back to Phichit, the friendly Thai boy, who gave him some hope that the people wouldn't be so bad. Most musicians who performed at this level were surrounded by the stereotype that they were dominated by their egos, which Yuuri sometimes found to be true. He was sure that he would encounter people like that along the way, but he hoped the majority of his acquaintances would be like the one he met earlier. Then there was the conductor... whoever that may be. Yuuri tried to think back on it, but he realized that that information had never been disclosed. When he had filled out the necessary paperwork for his audition, he remembered reading that the conductor of the group had been deemed "undetermined" at the time. Surely, they had to have had one by now. There were dozens of esteemed conductors from all around the world who Yuuri could possibly have the honor to work with. He grew nervously excited at the thought.  _I just hope I'm good enough for whoever I'm playing for_... Yuuri thought to himself, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower. 

 

After toweling himself dry, he slipped into his rather frumpy suit. It wasn't that it didn't fit him well, it was just... awkward. Adjusting the pressed white button-down beneath his suit jacket and tying his Mari-disapproved tie, Yuuri put his glasses on and haphazardly ran a hand through his hair. He gave himself a quick once-over in the bathroom mirror before grabbing his phone and heading downstairs to the banquet. To his surprise, he was one of the last people to arrive. The hotel staff had really done a number on the room. Potted trees and plants were lined against some of the walls and corners of the room, leaving enough room for a congregation of tables on the left side. Each table was round and seated about six people. Yuuri noticed that folded name cards were propped in front of each chair on the tables. Most of the tables were already full, people of all cultures, shapes, and sizes occupying them. He was intimidated by the scene. Soft music played overhead, barely heard over the nervous buzz of chatter. A large area on the opposite side of the room was cleared, probably for dancing. Long tables dressed with white tablecloth lined the dance floor, boasting more flutes of champagne than Yuuri had ever seen in one place at the same time. Tucking his arms awkwardly at his side, careful not to bump into anyone, Yuuri made his way around the tables, searching for which one housed his name. When he finally found it, he saw that he was the last one to arrive. To his displeasure, Phichit was not seated at the same table. Yuuri caught his eye a few tables over, though, to which Phichit warmly waved and called out his name. Yuuri took a seat and pulled into the table. There was one woman at the table, the rest being males like him.

 

"Looks like you already have a friend over there, no?" The woman spoke to him, her crimson locks pinned in an intricate twist to the back of her head. A midnight blue gown was practically painted on her body, its silver accents threaded into the fabric matching the silver makeup lining her deep blue eyes. She was beautiful, but so outwardly so that it gave Yuuri a sense of intimidation. 

 

"Hah... I guess, we just met this afternoon, though." Yuuri mentally patted himself on the back for responding with something relevant to the conversation. She gave him a closed-mouth smile and shrugged.

 

"We're all going to be friends eventually, isn't that right... Song Gil?" She turned to the man sitting next to her, a pale-skinned, stern looking Asian man. His eyebrows were dark and heavy, casting his expression so that it looked like he wanted to murder everyone seated at the table. He rolled his dark brown eyes, annoyance weighing down on his features.

 

"My name is  _Seung_ Gil Lee." He spoke bluntly, his voice deep and his words clipped. The woman shrugged, turning her attention away from him and to everyone else at the table.

 

"Well, since I'm apparently  _so terrible_ with names, why don't we all go around and introduce ourselves? We can say... oh I don't know, our name and where we're from?" 

 

"Ooh, and what instrument we play too!" Another man at the table chipped in, his smile glowing radiantly along with his tanned skin.

 

"Oh, good idea. I'm Mila Babicheva, I'm from here in Russia, and I'm a percussionist." She stated proudly, her eyes sweeping over everyone else as if expecting someone to challenge her words. No one did. 

 

"I'll go next," the tanned man chimed in again, "I'm Leo de la Iglesia, I'm from America, and I play the saxophone." Yuuri examined his features. He seemed both kind in nature and looks. All of is features were dark and warm. His soft brown hair was worn longer, parted down the middle to frame his face. His eyes were brown like Yuuri's, though Yuuri speculated that they held more warmth. He figured that Leo would be the kind of guy he could get along with.

 

"What about you, Seung?" Mila smirked at him, proud of herself for getting his name right this time.

 

"Seung Gil Lee. South Korea. Double bass."

 

The other two men were rather odd, Yuuri noted. One was a tall, slender man with short brown hair gelled into an odd, pointy shape. His name was Georgi Popovich, he was also from Russia, and he played harp. It looked to Yuuri as though he was on the brink of tears. The other one, Otabek Altin from Kazakhstan, answered in similar fashion to Seung Gil Lee. Otabek seemed to be the stony, silent type, his expression unmoved and his features professional and severe. Their table certainly had odd dynamics. Mila was in the middle of sharing a story about how she got wildly drunk right before a concert once when she was interrupted by someone tapping on the microphone. Yakov, Lilia, and Celestino had taken the center of the assumed dance floor, standing in an intimidating group of talent and prestige.

 

"Good evening, everyone," Yakov held the microphone in his hand, "I'm glad to see that you all made it safely here to my wonderful home country. Tonight is a sort of kickoff night for us all, but don't let that fool you. While right now we dance and celebrate and mingle, the next 6 months of your life are going to be all about your growth as a musician. Each of you clearly has enough talent to make it within this particular musical community, but that doesn't mean you're anywhere near the best you can be. I expect hard work and dedication from all of you, even though your conductor isn't exactly the most... experienced with this branch of music. Anyways, I warmly welcome you all, congratulations." His speech was followed by the expected applause, but also by a series of hushed whispers. 

 

" _Inexperienced?" "What does that mean?" "Why does Yakov sound so cross with the conductor?" " **Who** exactly is our conductor?"  
_

 

Everyone assaulted each other with their questions, each of them just as clueless as the next. Yakov passed the microphone to Lilia, who began to speak, shushing the whispers into silence. 

 

"Now, if I can have all of your attention, I'd like to introduce you to your conductor." She turned to look behind her. Everyone else craned their necks and stood up in their seats to see who was making their way onto the open floor. A figure stepped around the group of musicians, gingerly taking the microphone out of Lilia's hand. Yuuri felt his heart fly up to his throat. There was no way that what he was seeing was true, or even possible.

 

"Welcome, everyone! Congratulations to all of your talent, really. It's an honor to work with such a group of musicians, especially some of you who are so young! I'm talking about you, Yura." The man speaking into the microphone smiled into the crowd. Yuuri followed his gaze, his eyes falling upon a slender, blonde man, his silky hair half-braided and falling just past his shoulders. The man scowled, his green eyes boring holes into anyone who dared looked at him. "Aha, he's always been like that," The speaker continued, his silver locks catching the light being shone on him, "Anyways, thank you for having me, I'm excited to start a new chapter in my musical life." With that, none other than Victor Nikiforov handed the microphone back to Lilia, grinning as he did so. Yuuri could pass out. Well, maybe not pass out, but throwing up seemed like another good option. 

 

"Yuuri, are you okay?" Mila reached out to him, placing a slender hand on his shoulder. 

 

"That's... that's..." He trailed off, his tongue feeling like a dead weight in his mouth.

 

"That's Victor-fucking-Nikiforov, Russia's most popular singer and sexiest bachelor..." Georgi trailed off, looking at Victor with a mixture of envy and awe. "If I had been more like him in my musical career, then maybe my Anya wouldn't have left me..."

 

"Oh Jesus Christ, here we go." Mila dramatically rolled her eyes, taking a swig of the red wine placed before her. 

 

Yuuri felt overwhelmed. Georgi was crying, Mila had started to drink, and Victor Nikiforov, pop idol sensation/his new  _classical music_ conductor was making his way around the tables, warmly greeting every one of his new grouplings. To top it all off, the slow drone of the music in the background shifted into a heavy, throbbing beat of some pop song, signalling that the time to dance was upon all of them. Yuuri felt a headache start to form in the back of his skull. He tiredly took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Just as he was doing so, he made out a tall, blurry figure walk up to their table.

 

"Ah, welcome! Mila, Georgi, glad to see you two again. What about the rest of you, who do we have here?"

 

Seung Gil Lee and Otabek seemed unphased by the presence of Victor at their table, Mila and (a crying) Georgi exchanged familiar greetings with Victor, Leo eagerly greeted him and took his hand, and Yuuri just stared. It was all he could do. Even seeing Victor without his glasses, Yuuri could tell that he was even more strikingly handsome in person. No, maybe not handsome, more like... beautiful. His eyes were a dazzling blue- bright, clear, and demanding of attention. Their color seemed to cut right through the blur in Yuuri's vision. 

 

"Eh, are you okay?" Victor looked at him quizzically, tilting his head to the side.

 

Yuuri couldn't think. He couldn't move. Everyone else at the table looked to him, waiting for his next move. Yuuri couldn't take it, the pressure was too much. He stood upright, he chair sliding noisily out from behind him. Leaving his glasses on the table, he bolted without a word.  _Bathroom bathroom bathroom bathroom... there's gotta be one around here._ The world was blurry around him, and the dull ache in his head had turned into a full on pounding. He heard the throbbing music start to grow more distant as he fled further and further away from the banquet. He didn't end up finding a bathroom, but Yuuri scurried far enough away that he managed to find himself back in the interior courtyard. Leaning against one of the marble pillars, he rested his head against the coldness of the smooth stone.  _Oh my god... what did I just do? That was Victor Nikiforov!_ He groaned aloud, dragging his hands through his hair and down his face. He, the shy, anxious, Yuuri Katuski, had just acted like a complete ass in front of Russia's most renowned performer. And all for what, anxiety? He was pathetic. Yuuri sunk to the floor, folding his knees into himself. The marble floor was cold and unforgiving against his bottom.  _I have to go back in... I can't just leave like that. I also can't see for shit... I need my glasses back._ Standing up and sucking in a gust of air, Yuuri semi-composed himself and headed back into the banquet.

 

Nothing had changed since he had left. More people occupied the dance floor and lingered around the champagne tables, yet no one seemed disturbed by his outburst. Yuuri found managed to find his table again, Victor thankfully nowhere to be seen. He placed his glasses on his face and blinked, eyes adjusting to his new surroundings. Only Georgi and Leo remained at the table. At this point in the night, Georgi was in a full out sob, wailing the name "Anya" over and over again as Leo awkwardly put his arm around his shoulders and muttered condolences. Thankfully, Leo just smiled at him and Georgi was too deeply involved in his own pity party to make any remarks about what had just happened. There was no way Yuuri was about to stay at the table and let the sad Russian man's sobs advance his headache. "I'm going to go get a drink..." he said aloud to no one in particular. 

 

Cutting through the crowd and making his way over to the champagne, Yuuri grabbed a flute and less-than-elegantly downed the whole thing in one gulp. He had his back turned to the dance floor, purposely trying to avoid any conversation that anyone would be willing to initiate. He felt a slight buzz run through his body, but one flute wasn't going to help him forget the awkwardness of what just happened. One melted into three, which somehow turned into five, which eventually turned into eight. As he was about to pick up his ninth, a hand pushed his softly back down onto the table. Yuuri blinked hazily, looking to see who was separating him from his social-savior.

 

"I think you've had enough..." Phichit offered kindly, his smile somewhat nervous. Yuuri stumbled to face the man, his actions feeling delayed in his head.

 

"I just had the most awkwarddd moment, it was weird, man!" Yuuri hiccuped, laughing messily at the gesture. Phichit's eyes were wide.

 

"Is that so?" He asked cautiously, not knowing where the conversation was headed. Yuuri nodded furiously, rambling off about what had just happened with Victor. From the look on Phichit's face, nothing that he was saying made remotely any sense. Yuuri, frustrated by his lack of means to communicate, started to yell.

 

"HOW COME YOU CAN ALL DO THIS SO EASILY, YET I HAVE TO B-BE THE ODD MAN OUT?" He looked furiously to Phichit, as though expecting a response to his barely intelligible question. Before Phichit could even answer, Yuuri spotted the slender blonde man who Victor had called out in his introduction. Leaving a confused Phichit at the table, Yuuri staggered over to the blondie. 

 

"You," he pointed a shaky finger at the younger man, "How come you-u're so goodddd with Victor?" The blonde man turned to face him, flipping his hair over his shoulder as he showered Yuuri in a scowl. 

 

"Oi, you drunk pig, what are you talking about? Victor being here is a joke. He's totally out of his element, I don't know who he thinks he is. Victor Nikiforov is officially dead to the music world."

 

"HEyy, d-don't say that! Victor is a GOD among men, his music rocks."

 

"I can say whatever the fuck I want to, who do you think you are?" The man's green eyes seemed to be glowing with rage, his slender nose crinkled up with his scowl.

 

"I-I'm Yuuri Katsuki, and I'm going to challenge you to a dance-off." Yuuri stated proudly, his mouth curling up into a wicked grin. 

 

"As if there's any way I'd do tha-"

 

"What? Too chickennnnnn? I thought you R-Russians were supposed to be biggg strong men." Yuuri taunted at him, his slurred words messily melting into each other. The other man fumed, ripping off his tuxedo jacket and throwing it angrily to the floor.

 

"I'll show you who's country you're messing with, pig. There's only room for one Yuri in this ensemble!"

 

"I'm gonna be Victor's friend tooooo, just you see!" Though he didn't understand what the blonde man meant with his comment, Yuuri tossed his jacket off in a similar fashion. By then, a small group of other musicians had gathered around the two men, eager to see what drunken festivities were about to take place. 

 

Yuuri didn't remember much after that. Somehow, in the middle of their dance-off (which somehow morphed into weird break-dancing), a pole mysteriously appeared, and Yuuri blamed that for the lack of clothes he currently had on. Another musician (Yuuri had absolutely no clue who he was) was stripped down to his boxers, scandalously showing off his toned, tanned body. Yuuri remembered something about dancing on the pole with him, but he was too dazed to really pick up the big details. In the midst of his dancing, Yuuri noticed two things. For starters, his tie had somehow managed to get tied around his head. Asides from that, though, he picked up a hint of silvery hair in the corner of his eye. Swinging around the pole (and the other dancer) to get a better look, Yuuri met Victor's eyes. They were wide with surprise. Even in his drunken state, Yuuri could have sworn that he could see the ocean in his eyes. He swung off the pole, clumsily landing on the floor with flat feet.

 

"V-Victor! Do you want to dance?" He shoved his hand out towards the other man, grinning like an idiot. Victor paused for a moment, cautiously looking Yuuri up and down. His hesitance broke out into a small smile, and he took Yuuri's had. Yuuri could hear his dance-off rival shout a disgruntled "WHAT", but he could care less. With Victor's hand in his, he flung himself into a rather eccentric spin, using the other man to stabilize himself. To his surprise, Victor pulled him back in, Yuuri following the motion with a dramatic twirl into his chest. He could feel Victor's chest vibrate with soft laughter, and boy, it felt  _good._ By then, the small circle previously surrounding the dance-off had turned into everyone in the room watching. They clapped with the beat of the music, laughing at Yuuri's wild, drunken state and encouraging the pair to keep up their dancing. 

 

Sometimes, Yuuri would lead Victor, and other times, Victor would coax Yuuri into a ridiculous dance routine. The crowd was eating them up. Yuuri felt amazing. He could feel alcohol coursing through his veins and swelling in his head, lightening the pressure of his anxiety-induced headache. The music was no longer painful, its beat now seemed to match the sporadic beating of Yuuri's heart.

 

"Y-You're my idol, you know." Yuuri called up to Victor over the music. Victor's eyes sparkled as he smiled at Yuuri admirably. 

 

"I've heard about your music, too," Victor responded, "You're really talented."

 

Yuuri whipped his head up to get a better look, his tie swinging with the motion. He stopped their dancing, leaving the two locked in an embrace and just staring at each other. Ignoring the crowd of people wondering just  _what the hell_ the two were about to do next, Yuuri buried himself in Victor, locking him in an enormous hug. He felt Victor stiffen momentarily, not knowing what to do about the situation he was currently in.

 

"Make me bettter, Victor! Make me the best musician I can be!" He exclaimed loudly for everyone to hear. The crowd around them gasped at his drunken forwardness. Victor let out a soft gasp of his own, looking down at him.

 

His expression melted into a smile.


	3. change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! i meant to post this earlier, but like an idiot, I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED HALF OF IT AND HAD TO START OVER. so yeah, here we are. i used quite a bit of flower references in here!! if anyone catches it, later in the chapter the flowers on otabek's table are rosemary, which represents remembrance. it's a subtle hint at a *cough cough* certain ship, if any of you can catch that ;). anyways, hope you enjoy!

Yuuri woke to find himself hopelessly tangled in a mess of his bed sheets.   


His body was coated in a sheen layer of sweat, plastering the Egyptian Cotton fabric to his body. Yuuri sat up, attempting to untangle himself, and was immediately met with the full force of his hangover. The world around him spun, making his stomach violently churn. Puffing his cheeks out and muttering out a retching noise, he succumbed to his body's displeasure with him and sank back down.  _Just how much did I drink last night...?_ He willed his thoughts to venture back into last night's banquet, but they were met with a hazy wall of resistance. The only thing he could remember was... oh. Right. He had been a complete and total asshole to Victor Nikiforov: his musical idol  _and_ sudden conductor. Yuuri felt the discomfort of his stomach again, but instead of loose nausea, he felt a tight, stressful coiling. He had given Victor an absolutely atrocious impression, one that he'd have to make an effort to correct for the next 6 months. That was yet another thing Yuuri had to add to his already-stressful agenda. He rubbed dejectedlyat his stomach, willing the pain to subside beneath his touch. It was then he noticed that last night's suit had been stripped off and replaced with one of the plain white undershirts from his luggage. He also found that his pants and belt were gone, leaving him in his boxers and socks. Judging from the blurriness of his observations, his glasses were gone as well. Careful not to move too quickly, Yuuri looked to the night stand in between his bed and his extra one. His glasses were neatly folded, waiting for him to pick them up.  _Was I sober enough to do this all myself?_ Yuuri wondered, delicately leaning over to grab them. To his surprise, a tall glass of water and two red and white pills lay next to his glasses.  _Ah... someone else must have helped me._ His face immediately warmed at the thought. Someone had stripped him down and partially re-clothed him... seeing him both shirtless and in his boxers. "Oh my god..." Yuuri muttered aloud, pulling the untangled sheets up higher to cover his body, as though whoever helped him was still there watching him. He'd only been in Russia for about 24 hours now, yet here he was, getting so drunk that (presumably) one of his fellow musicians had to undress him and put him to bed like a child. Yuuri supposed that in some ways his anxiety made him seem childish, but to actually be cared for like one... that was embarrassing. He removed his phone from the charger and opened it to check the time. It was about 10:30. He didn't have to worry about being late to rehearsal today, since Celestino had sent out a GroupMe to all the musicians telling them that rehearsal was pushed back to 3:00 on their first day. Yuuri saw that many of the other musicians had already responded and added their information in the chat, making it easy to see new faces and identify who was who. Scrolling through the chat, he saw that Phichit, Leo, and 3 other people had responded. The response that caught his eye, however, was Victor's:

 

_Great! I'll see you at the Tchaikovsky Concert Hall at 3:00, my lovely grouplings._ _(´∀`)_

 

His breath caught in his throat as he analyzed the response. Instead of having a professionally photographed profile picture like Yuuri thought he would, Victor's message was accompanied by a small picture of him and a brown, fluffy poodle cramming into the camera. It was surprisingly low quality, appearing as though it were a selfie. Despite that, the corners of Yuuri's mouth turned slightly upwards as he noted the way Victor's eyes crinkled so naturally with happiness and how his mouth was curled into his famous heart-shaped smile. His little emoticon surprised Yuuri as well. This guy doesn't seem nearly as professional as he seems on stage, huh. 

 

Yuuri decided that it was time to get up and attempt to function as a normal human being. Shakily, he downed the water and the two pills and dragged himself out of bed. His body felt like dead weight the minute his feet touched the ground. Yuuri lurched forward, catching himself on his nightstand. Today's rehearsal was not going to be fun. He shuffled slowly into the bathroom to get a good look at himself in the mirror. He looked just as shitty as he felt. His hair stood up in random tufts, a result shared between bedhead and... whatever the hell his drunk self had gotten into last night. The bags under his eyes were edging on a more violent shade now, and his almond shaped eyes seemed to droop down with them. His skin was paler than normal and clammy, making him look sickly. Congratulations, Yuuri, you win life. He deadpanned in his head, turning to twist the knob of the shower. He stood under the water for a long time, hoping that by some miracle it would wash off his shitty appearance. When the scalding water tinged his skin a satisfying shade of pink, Yuuri decided it was time to step out. 

By the time he was dressed and had made his bed, Yuuri felt slightly human. Sure, his whole body trembled from a weakened stomach, but he was fine. Everything was fine. He had dressed himself in a nondescript black sweater and Adidas sweatpants, hoping that the other musicians wouldn't give him more than a once-over. It was the first rehearsal, and Yuuri wanted to establish himself emotionally before he did socially. His mother often called him her  _koware yasui hana_ , or "fragile flower." Yuuri was timid. He was hesitant. He cried more than he'd like to admit, and crumbled under extreme pressure. In Japan, mental illness was surrounded by a heavy stigma, so despite how much she cared, Yuuri felt as though his mother never really understood that anxiety was what made him so shy and so self-doubting. It had taken him a while to figure it out for himself, but when he did, Yuuri understood that there was nothing he could really do about it. Medication wasn't an option. Music, he had discovered, was what really helped. It was also what hindered him. Stuck in a constant fight between becoming the better musician and suffering through blows of defeat, Yuuri found that it helped just enough to keep him from going crazy. Something deep within him, though, was determined to overcome and dominate. He knew that somewhere, he contained passion. Passion was a dangerous thing. It was the littlest spark, stinging ever-so-slightly behind his fingertips when they met with marble keys. He felt it in his heart too. That's where the spark; the music, came from. But, like his mother said, he was fragile. His heart wouldn't be able to sustain the fiery heat of passion, so it contained the spark within him and never let it grow to its full potential. Yuuri couldn't ever foresee himself growing as a musician. It was a miracle that he had gotten himself to this point, so he was content with exploring this range of his comfort zone and letting it be his last opportunity to branch out. After this, he wasn't sure if he wanted to continue on with his career. He loved music, of course, but his heart was giving him a clear sign that he was never, ever going to be what he hoped to be. 

 

It was okay, though. It was fine. 

By the time he had spent nearly an eternity in the bathroom, Yuuri realized that his nausea had subsided to the point where he was actually hungry. Recovering from a hangover and wallowing in self-misery really did that to you. He tucked his room key into his wallet, which he then pocketed, and ducked out the door. Like the elevator ride up on his first morning here, Yuuri's ride was vacant. He felt small in its open space. He stepped out on the third floor, recalling that Celestino had mentioned a breakfast hall there in his earlier text. So far, the hotel had yet to not impress him. The breakfast hall was grand, from the red wine-colored carpets to the dark, wooden dining tables. Like the banquet last night, the tables were round and fit about 6 people, 7 if you really wanted to squeeze someone in. Instead of being dressed with a white tablecloth, however, they were ornamented with exquisite cutlery and a centerpiece of flowers. Each table had a different vase of flowers with a tiny name card next to it. Yuuri looked to the flowers on the table closest to him. They were yellow roses, the brilliance of their color clashing with the dark elegance of the room's colors. He gently picked up the name card. One tiny Russian word was inked onto it with sprawling cursive. 

 

_Izmeneniye_

 

"Change, how fitting." Otabek spoke to Yuuri over his shoulder before continuing walking on his way. Yuuri was startled. He thought he had been alone in the hall, but it turns out, Otabek was quietly grabbing his breakfast off of the long tables lined up against a bare wall. 

 

"I'm sorry, what?" Yuuri asked weakly, slightly intimidated by the other man's presence.

 

"Change. That's what your card says. It's talking about what the flowers on your table represent."

 

"Oh. Wait, why is that fitting?"

 

"You change quite a bit when you're not sober. I'm not surprised you don't remember."

 

Yuuri felt his chest seize with coldness. Clearly, Otabek had seen  _something_. What that something was, though, he couldn’t remember to save his life. Before he even had the chance to ask what exactly the other man had seen, Otabek took his filled plate and walked to the opposite side of the breakfast hall, choosing to dine in solitude. His table was decorated with rosemary. Yuuri wondered what that meant. After filling up his own plate with a meager breakfast (mostly just toast and melon, to be honest), Yuuri sat down at the table with the yellow roses and took to eating alone like Otabek. It didn't feel the same, though. While the other man seemed to enjoy his status of being a loner, Yuuri felt out of place. He knew for certain that there was no one else in the room watching him, but he couldn't help but feel that he was being silently judged for eating alone. He unlocked his phone and opened Instagram to distract himself. He noticed that he had received an armful of friend requests. Confused by this, he scrolled down the list. 4 of them were from his table-members yesterday (Otabek must not actively use social media), and the rest were unfamiliar names. Yuuri cautiously clicked on each one, examining profile pictures and photos. Every single account had a picture of an instrument or the person playing it. It took him a moment to recognize that these must be his fellow musicians.  _How did they all collectively find my account?_  Yuuri wondered nervously. He accepted all of them and requested to follow back, allowing them access to his grand total of 15 photos. His very first picture was of piano music resting against the music rack, while the remaining 14 were random snaps of the ocean in Hasetsu and his family's onsen. He refreshed his feed and found that Phichit and another musician named Minami had already gone through and liked some of his pictures. He also came across a new follow request.

 

_v-nikiforov has requested to follow you_

 

Yuuri's phone clattered to the table.

 

He blinked hard. Why would Victor of all people request to follow him after he’d been nothing but rude to him? Shakily, Yuuri picked his phone back up and looked through the other man’s account. It was definitely him. Victor was the kind of social media user who posted twice a day (at minimum). His feed was littered with thousands of photos, all of which Yuuri was familiar with (hey, that’s called loyalty). He clicked on the latest photo, which to his surprise only uploaded 10 minutes prior to his checking. It showed Victor’s long, lanky legs outstretched from wherever he was sitting. Individual pages of sheet music were scattered on his lap, little rhythms, notes, and scribbles barely distinguishable on them. The caption was just as casual as the picture: “#inspired !!” Yuuri zoomed in, eyes widening at the rows and rows of seats that extended behind Victor’s feet. _He’s already at the hall._ Yuuri’s eyes drifted to the top of his phone, where the time read 1:30. Practice didn’t start for another hour and a half. _Now would be the perfect time to go and apologize to him..._ Yuuri’s mind tempted him, the practicality of its bait overwhelming. He debated internally a few moments more, shifting his phone from hand to hand and hovering his finger over the accept button above Victor’s request. He looked up cautiously to see if anyone was witnessing his mental struggle. Otabek had left as silently as he had come, leaving Yuuri alone with his thoughts. He sighed, the little exhale of breath disrupting a yellow pedal. It swayed softly in the air before gently settling on the dark wood of the table. Yuuri stared at it for a moment. _Change… I have the power to change_. With that, his finger quickly tapped the little green arrow on the screen and he stood up, gathering his things.

 

The walk to Tchaikovsky Concert Hall took a grand total of 2 minutes. Yuuri was still cold, mind you. In his impulsiveness, he hadn’t even thought to bring a jacket. It was mid-November, and the temperature was already edging into the negatives. He shuddered in his sweater, wrapping his arms around himself as he soldiered on. Impulsive missions called for impulsive choices. As he crossed the street, there was no mistaking that he was at the hall. The building was intimidating. A stone column exterior jutted out from the main part of the building, boasting 9 separate entryway. Above each was a giant poster, each one advertising a different musician or program. Yuuri nervously scuttled through the doorway, anxious to get inside and away from the cold. After a moment of confusion, he found the doors leading into the concert hall itself. He quietly slipped in, leaving the door slightly suspended with his hand to not make a sound. The seats around him were shrouded with darkness, only the stage lit. There, in all his glory, Yuuri found Victor. He was seated on the conductor’s podium, legs still outstretched and music still floating absently on his lap. He wore a furrowed expression, tapping his pencil against his temple as he stared at the papers with concentration. After a moment of thought, he jotted something down. Yuuri felt like he was frozen. He was watching a mastermind at work. Yuuri knew that Victor was more than just a pop idol. He’d been educated at the Rimsky-Korsakov St. Petersburg State Conservatoire, earning degrees in music theory, vocal performance, composition… there had to have been other areas of specialty. Yuuri wondered when Victor had gone back to school to degree in conducting. His thoughts were cut short when his grip on the door absentmindedly slipped, causing it to shut with a loud _crash._ Victor’s head shot up from his work. He narrowed his eyes, attempting to squint through the dark and see.

 

“Someone there?” He called out, his voice echoing off the walls. Yuuri was frozen. He stood for a moment, staring at Victor anonymously in the dark. His feet worked against his mind and started to carrying, pushing him along until he standing before the front of the stage.

 

“I… I didn’t mean to scare you.” Yuuri softly spoke upwards. Instead of jumping, Victor merely looked down, studying the person below him. His eyes crinkled at the corner, and walked over the edge of the stage to meet Yuuri.

 

“Ah, Yuuri, you didn’t scare me.” Yuuri’s eyes widened. Victor had spoken his name so fluidly, the foreign word rolling off his tongue with ease. He wondered how Victor knew his name, but then thought back to the mysterious friend request. His cheeks flushed against his will.

 

“Why are you here so early?” Victor picked up the conversation, “You have over an hour before you’re supposed to be here.

 

“Yes, I know. I came to… I came to apologize. For last night. I shouldn’t have just walked out on you like that.” Yuuri blurted out his words, forcing them out of his system. It took him a moment before his could bring his gaze from the floor to Victor. Victor quirked a silver brow, looking at him in confusion.

 

“I don’t recall what you’re talking about, so I’m definitely not upset. You were the highlight of my night, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever danced like that!” Victor’s mouth curled up into his signature heart-shaped smile.

 

“Dance…?” Now it was Yuuri’s turn to be confused. Victor’s eyes lit up.

 

“Oh! You don’t remember! Don’t worry, I can show you everything here on my phone.” He tapped in his passcode and thrust his phone into Yuuri’s face. Yuuri stared at the object before him. “Go on!” Victor coaxed, holding it out further for him. Yuuri took it delicately into his hands and started to scroll. His heart dropped to his stomach. The first few pictures were relatively tame. There he was, one hand planted firmly on the ground while the other waved in the hair, his feet bent over his head. A vaguely familiar blonde man was behind him, white-blonde hair frozen midair as he struck a familiar pose. As the picture’s progressed, Yuuri felt as though he could pass out. Somehow, in his drunken glory, he’d managed to shed everything but his socks, boxers, and tie (which was wrapped around his head). Half naked, his photographed-self was draped around a pole, expression far too seductive. “Judging from that look, you must have gotten to the pole dancing pictures. Keep going, it gets better!” Victor cheerily spoke above him, now laying on his stomach with his chin propped in his hands. Yuuri responded with silence as he kept scrolling. Somewhere along the way, another man had joined him on the pole, completely bare save his boxers. Judging from how into it he was, Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure if alcohol had fueled the other man’s dancing. From where his heart had sunk with shock, Yuuri felt it start to swell and float back up to his chest. In the next few pictures, he was dancing alongside Victor. Miraculously, the missing parts of his suit had returned to him throughout that part of the night. The two were dancing hand in hand, Yuuri lazily draped in Victor. His own face wore an ecstatic smile, while Victor was looking down at him with… fondness? As he kept scrolling, their facial expressions never changed. Their bodies shifted and twisted, but that look Victor was giving on him was painted on his face. Yuuri couldn’t stand to see anymore. He quickly handed Victor’s phone back, still speechless.

 

“Ah, there’s more, you have to see!” Victor begged him, insistently handing his phone back. Yuuri shook his head violently.

 

“I’m so embarrassed right now, I think I’ll go blind if I look at any more awful pictures of myself. I can’t believe I did that…” He brought his hands to his face, smooshing his glasses and muffling his words.

 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Victor spoke softly, “Everyone loved you! Well, maybe not Yura, but I’d be surprised if he made an exception for anyone.” He stared at Yuuri’s blank expression before elaborating. “Oh! You two aren’t on a name basis yet… that was Yuri Pliesetsky you danced with. He’s Russia’s up and coming top cellist. Only 18 and already far more musically talented than I ever was at that age.” Victor chuckled, and Yuuri wanted to die. Yep, now was the time. _Goodbye, world…_

 

Victor extended his hand downwards to Yuuri, interrupting his internal melodrama. Yuuri stared at him before realizing he was offering to help him up onto the stage. He shook his head at his idol.

 

“I’m fine… I can get up myself.” The corners of Victor’s mouth twitched downwards for a moment, but quickly recovered back into a gentle smile. He rolled off of his stomach and into an upright position, giving Yuuri his space. Somewhat awkwardly, Yuuri hoisted himself up onto the stage. He noted that there were already some instruments on stage. The back of the stage was already lined with percussion equipment, and a harp and piano were stationed on the left side of the stage where the violins were soon to be seated. A few chairs were scattered here and there, but there was nothing close to a proper setup.

 

“If I remember from your Instagram and last night, you play piano, da?” Yuuri opened his mouth to answer, and noticed that there was very little space between the two of them. Victor’s bangs lazily hung over the right side of his face, sliver locks faintly reflecting the light shining onstage. Every time he smiled, as he was doing now, his eyes sparkled. Different shades of blue decorated his eyes like chips of ocean glass. Yuuri wondered what Victor saw when he looked into his own murky brown eyes. He snapped back into reality, his cheeks flushing violently.

 

“P-piano, yes. That’s me.” He pointed awkwardly to the piano, stammering a small laugh to cover his awkwardness.

 

If Victor thought the ordeal to be uncomfortable, he didn’t show it. “Wonderful! Since we still have about half an hour before the rest come, would you mind helping me set up?”

 

“I need to go back and get my music… I forgot to bring it… ha.”

 

“You won’t need anything,” Victor waved his hand dismissively, “Today we’ll just be sight reading and seeing how we do as a group. I’ll also be taking suggestions for what pieces we should play.” Victor’s eyes widened in excitement as he explained his plan to Yuuri. He couldn’t help but to offer a small smile.

 

“Sure. I can do that”

 

* * *

 

The stage filled up quicker than he thought it would. Musicians started showing up around 2:45, slowly trickling in until the room was abuzz with chatter and random notes. Yuuri was seated at his piano bench, a grand Fazioli Pianoforti before him. His cautiously ran his fingers over the keys, their glossiness catching the light. If he strained, he could hear Georgi plucking at the strings of the harp behind him. The violins were screeching next to him, their notes climbing higher and higher in pitch. The woodwinds were sandwiched in the center of the stage between the second violins and violas. The cellos were seated next to the violas with the bases behind them. Percussion, trumpets, trombones, and tubas lined the back of the stage, the French horns right in front of them. Then, that left Victor on the podium in front of them all. He appeared to be reading off of music on his stand, quietly talking to himself and waving his baton. Yuuri noticed something strange. Last night he remembered Leo telling him that he played saxophone, but at the time, it hadn’t dawned on him that saxophones weren’t typically in full orchestras. He looked to their section, which was seated behind the woodwinds and next to the French horns. _Huh… it looks as though Victor really does want to surprise people._ He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand caressed his shoulder, fingers kneading into the muscles.

 

“You were the first one here… looks like you’re just as passionate a musician as you are a dancer.” A heavily accented voice purred in his ear, hot air uncomfortably caressing the shell of his ear. Yuuri whipped around to see an embarrassingly familiar face. Golden blonde curls resting on top of a shorter brown cut, Yuuri’s pole-dancing buddy and all of his toned glory stood before him, his saxophone suspended against his chest by its neck strap. _Figures he would play saxophone._

 

“Oh… hello. Good to see you again?” Yuuri’s stammering nervousness made his greeting sound more like a question. The other man chuckled.

 

“Christophe Giacometti, nice to meet you.” He kneaded his fingers deeper into Yuuri’s muscles instead of offering him a hand to shake. Yuuri awkwardly shrugged his hand off of him.

 

“I’m Y-“

 

“Yuuri Katsuki. Believe me, we all know your name after last night. I’d bet you a lot of us even have the pictures to remember it, too.” He dug his phone out of his pocket, turning it on for Yuuri to see the lock screen. It was a picture of the two pole-dancing… with Yuuri cropped out. He could see about half of his wrist in the bottom corner, but the rest of his barely-clothed body nowhere to be seen.

 

“Did you… crop me out?” Yuuri asked slowly, his skittish mind still trying to make sense of the man. Christophe shrugged and pocketed his phone.

 

“Ja, well, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Ciao.” With an oh-so casual wave of his hand, he found his way back to his section. Yuuri had never met a man with less shame. The sound of wood rapping against medal caught his attention, as well as everyone else’s. Victor stood upright on the podium, demanding the attention of his orchestra.

 

“Looks like everyone made it on time! Welcome to our first official practice. We won’t do anything major today, but I have some pieces for us to sight read to see how we play as a group. At the end of that, I’ll be taking suggestions for any arrangements that anyone’s interested in playing. Your musical taste describes you as a musician, and by the end of this, I’d like to think that I’ll know the majority of you fairly well. I’ll pass out this first sight-reading piece to anyone who’d be willing to act as section leader for now. We’ll have a chair test in two days to determine your order for the concerts. For that, I’d appreciate it if you prepared at least 20 measures of a solo. Anyways, let’s get to it!”

 

Yuuri could feel his head spinning. He also had never felt more grateful that he had played piano. Sure, competition was fierce, but he’d never had to worry about a chair test before. He felt sorry for the entirety of the rest of the band (well, asides from Georgi. But he had better reasons to feel sorry for him). Victor glided over to his side of the stage, softly handing Yuuri 4 sheets of music. He winked, then walked behind him to deliver Georgi his part. Yuuri blinked twice, his eyes following Victor as he returned back to his podium.

 

“Take 5 minutes to read that over, then we can begin.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes grazed over the music, his heart skipping beats as he noticed the incessant sixteenth note runs. For a moment, the only thing he could hear was the sound of his own shallow breathing. Victor rapped his baton against his stand again, snapping Yuuri out of his nervous haze. He lifted the baton, signaling the musicians to put their instruments into playing position.

 

“I’m going to take this at half tempo, okay? Play with me… 1, 2, 3-“

 

The violins tore away first, taking the melody. Yuuri was thankful that the beginning for him mostly consisted of harmonic background notes, quietly blending in and aiding the main tune of the song. He noticed that as they played along, the lower voices of the strings started to become more overwhelmingly present. Judging from the way the violins seemed to fight them off for the melody, something wasn’t right. Then, he noticed the speed off. He willed his fingers to adjust to the new tempo, his eyes rapidly scanning over his music as each note came sooner and sooner. He tore his eyes away for a moment to look to Victor, whose brows were furrowed. His swung his baton with great fervor, trying to reel the orchestra back in from its runaway tempo. He gave up in the middle of the song, waving his two hands back and forth dismissively to cancel everyone’s noise.

 

“No, no. You sped up on me. Can anyone guess which section inspired that?”

 

A hand shot up from the back of the orchestra. Yuuri recognized its owner from his audition back in Tokyo. It was the same confident trumpet player who had walked out of his audition, boasting his success to his girlfriend. Though, upon closer look, this man clearly wasn’t Japanese. He looked… American?

 

“It was the cellos, I heard it loud and clear.” He stated proudly, his voice cutting through silence.

 

Victor nodded at him. “It was. Now, I remember you. Give me a moment. It’s… Jean Jaques Leroy, from Canada, no?” Jean nodded fervently, crossing his arms in satisfaction.

 

“Since I’m the best trumpet player in my country, my fans call me JJ. You’re all welcome to, too.” JJ spoke to the whole group, offering a smile that looked more like a snarl. Yuuri’s mouth tugged into a frown. Who did this guy think he was? He stood up a little from his bench to peer over at the cellos, where he knew he’d find Yuri Pliesetsky. He saw the younger man sitting rigidly in his seat, his knuckles white from gripping his bow so hard. His hair was piled elegantly on top of his head in a bun, absent little wisps falling out to frame his face. Despite the daintiness of his features, his eyebrows were drawn severely in and his face was grimaced into a deep frown.

 

Victor shrugged over at the cellos. “I can see where you’d all get carried away, this is a piece of great passion. Next time, though, watch for me. This is our first piece, though, so I didn’t expect perfection. I handed out 2 pieces to everyone, so if you’d switch to that, please. Let’s hop right in, okay?”

 

Yuuri hurriedly rearranged his fingers and poised his fingers over his starting notes. Victor raised his baton, signaling that the orchestra was about to play. Before they began, Yuuri’s eyes flickered to the title of the piece. _Concerto for Piano and Orchestra No. 1, Op. 30._

Victor swung his arms, and Yuuri began to play. He could hear strings playing quietly in the background, but it dawned on him that _he was the focus of the song._ His playing became hyper-defined each note ringing loudly in his head. He felt himself falling behind. The notes on the page in front of him swam, melting into one another. His fingers fumbled, striking wrong notes left and right. He pressing burning behind his eyes, and he knew the feeling all too well. _No… not here… I can’t cry in front of everyone._ He looked up to Victor, who was focused in on him, concern written all over his features. He continued to conduct, but his eyes searched Yuuri’s, which were budded with tears. His gaze seemed to ask, _“Do you want me to keep going?”_ Yuuri blinked hard at him, trying to clear himself from any tears that threatened to spill over. Victor simply looked away, then ceased to conduct.

 

“Ah… my bad. Maybe I should have let you guys read this one over before I got carried away with myself. It’s not an easy one, you know.” He looked to Yuuri as he finished his sentence. Yuuri looked down, suddenly fascinated with the music he had failed to be able to play before. “Let’s go over some songs that the rest of you would like to play… any suggestions?”

 

Yuuri was thankful that Victor changed the subject. He listened silently as hands shot up with suggestions, taking the time to try and calm himself down. He heard many suggestions, some of them downright awful (“No, JJ, we’re not going to play an orchestral arrangement of your personal theme song”). Others intimidated him with their difficulty. Otabek had suggested they play Symphony No. 9, 2nd Movement “Advent”, a sweet-looking flute player suggested La Parfum de Fleurs, JJ suggestsed Paritzan Hope (which actually isn’t terrible), and Yuri shot him a wicked look.

 

“I say we should play Allegro Appassionato in B Minor.” He stated proudly, staring Yuuri down. It was the second time that day he felt as though he could keel over and die. He’d heard Yuri’s suggested arrangement played by a few orchestras in the past, and the one thing that’d stuck out to him was that the piano part was viciously hard. Victor didn’t seem to recall this.

 

“Great! Thanks to everyone for their suggestions. I’ll think it over tonight, and even add a few of my own. I’ve been a little inspired, recently.” His eyes sparkled as he smiled over everyone in the ensemble. He glanced down at his watch before giving a little gasp. “Oh! Looks like we’re done for the night. Thank you all, I can already tell this is going to be a fantastic group. I’ll see you all at dinner tonight, stay warm!” Yuuri neatly stacked all of his music in a little pile, rushing up to Victor’s stand to dispose of it. Just as he was ready to bolt and be the first one out, he was stopped by Phichit calling out to him.

 

“Hey, Yuuri! Wanna walk with us?” Letting out a defeated sigh, Yuuri turned around to see who “us” was. Phichit was struggling with the zipper of his jacket while Leo and the flute player who had suggested La Parfum de Fleurs waited alongside him. Leo offered a friendly little wave, and the flute player smiled shyly at him.

 

“Okay.” Yuuri said softly, waiting alongside the outskirts of the section.

 

“Do you know Guang Hong?” Phichit turned to Yuuri as the four of them walked down the sidewalk. Yuuri shook his head. Guang Hong, whose softly-curled brown hair peeked out from underneath the hood of his pink parka, gave his hand to Yuuri.

 

“It’s nice to finally meet you! Phichit said that you were pretty awesome, and I heard a lot about you at the banquet.” He smiled sweetly. Yuuri groaned and took his hand.

 

“I’m sorry about the banquet… I don’t know how I’m supposed to be around all you people and live knowing that you’ve all seen me after… how many glasses of champagne?”

 

“You had 9.” Phichit stated matter-of-factly, earnings laughs from both Guang and Leo.

 

“Yeah… like I said. How do you all know each other already?”

 

“Well, at one point last night Georgi was crying too hard to stay at the banquet, so I brought him up to his room, and I saw that Guang’s room was next to his and he was locked out. After Georgi was in his room, I helped Guang and we ended up just hanging out and talking in my room. Neither of us are old enough to drink yet, so we just hung out. Then Phichit knocked on my door to see if I had an extra towel, I found out that _we_ were neighbors, and then the three of us ended up hanging out! It’s kinda funny, actually.” Leo rambled on, talking as though the three of them had known each other forever. Yuuri silently processed their words, hoping they didn’t mistake his thinking for rudeness.

 

“I don’t know who my neighbors are.” He said finally.

 

“Show us after dinner tonight!” Guang Hong said excitedly, his cheeks dusted pink from the coldness around them. Yuuri slowly shook his head.

 

“Ah… if it’s alright, I think I’d like to just be alone tonight. Today’s kind of been a lot on me.” Phichit nodded understandingly, as did Leo and Guang Hong. The four of them parted ways once they reached the hotel lobby. Leo and Guang Hong immediately went to find where dinner was being served, and Phichit rode the elevator up with Yuuri. For once, Yuuri didn’t feel so alone.

 

Yuuri camped out in his room for half an hour, silently scrolling through his phone. He wanted to go down to dinner once it had cleared out a little. Rehearsal had been bad enough today. His fellow musicians had seen him dance like a drunken fool _and_ play like he’d never actually touched a piano. He could only imagine what they all thought of him. Once it was 7:00, Yuuri figured that he should probably head down to grab a bite to eat before dinner ended altogether. The dinner hall was in the same place as the breakfast hall had been, but the tables were now dressed with deep red tablecloths. The flowers had been replaced with candles, too. His mouth watered when he saw that different portions of the table were set up with food from different parts of the world. Immediately rushing over to the Japanese section, he was delighted to see that they had his favorite dish. _Katsudon._ Grabbing a piping hot bowl, Yuuri quickly hurried over to an empty table and began to eat. “This is definitely the best part of my day…” He murmured to himself between bites, to dish taking him back home to Japan.

 

“What about me?” A voice pouted at him at a chair slid out next to him, someone sitting down. Victor leaned his cheek against one hand as he stared at Yuuri. Yuuri was surprised he didn’t choke.

 

“No no that’s not what I meant!! I liked our conversation too don’t worry it’s just that I-“ Victor laughed heartily, pushing his chair in and taking a long sip of his water.

 

“You fluster easily, don’t you?” Victor said after swallowing. Yuuri watched the motion of his Adam’s apple.

 

“No.” He said quietly, returning Victor’s pout. Victor slid a music score over to him.

 

“I was thinking about this for our orchestra, tell me what you think.” Yuuri read the title. Stay Close to Me.

 

“Why are you asking me?”

 

“You’re our only pianist, Yuuri. The piano carries the heart of the melody, whether you can hear it or not. You’re very important in this group, and I want to know everything there is to you. Tell me all your secrets, Yuuuuuri.” Victor drew his name out, his eyes playfully looking at him.

 

“I don’t have any… and don’t look at me like that! It’s creepy.” Yuuri was surprised that it didn’t take him 4 glasses of champagne to be so frank.

 

Victor gave him a dramatic sigh. “What am I going to do with you! You couldn’t have had any past lovers with that kind of attitude, could you?”

 

“N-no! What does that have to do with me playing piano?”

 

“Absolutely nothing,” Victor laughed, twirling spaghetti around his fork, “I just wanted to fluster you. It is easy, you know. But that’s good to know. One secret of my Yuuri unlocked. He winked for the second time that day, shoveling the pasta into his mouth. Yuuri couldn’t do anything but stare. _My Yuuri?_ He also wondered how a man could look so good with little odd ends of noodles sticking out of his mouth. Victor stared back at him.

 

“Mmph?” He grunted out through a mouthful of food. Yuuri shook his head, a little laugh escaping from between his lips. He noted that a tiny, thin yellow pedal remained on the table cloth, its color a stark difference from the intense red. _Change._ It was showing up everywhere.

 

“Yuuri, what’s on your mind?” Victor asked once he’d finished his bite, staring perplexedly at Yuuri.

 

“Nothing, Victor, nothing.”


End file.
